


identity - cinnamon and honey

by winter_hare



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M, ancel is dressed as the little mermaid, auguste is a great big brother that likes to tease, damen quotes shakespeare at him at a party, damens a jock, laurent is really determined to win this costume contest, laurent is unimpressed, laurent wears his jersey, lazar sees pallas' dick and goes BONKERS, modern uni AU, this is honestly a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 05:21:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14742729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_hare/pseuds/winter_hare
Summary: Damen has won the university costume contest for three years in a row, and Laurent is determined to change that.





	identity - cinnamon and honey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flor_of_Desert](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flor_of_Desert/gifts).



Laurent stood in front of the mirror, a confident, proud smile on his face. Tightly laced around him was a stunning number in blue, the gold lace and delicate piping complimenting the soft contours of his body. It was marvellous, and he knew it. He had spent months on the costume, getting everything perfect, historically, and aesthetically. It had been laborious, many late nights after lectures spent pinning and sewing. But it would all be worth it, his hard work would all pay off when he saw the look on Damianos’ face. For the past two years, Laurent had been beaten in the annual costume contest by the absolute oaf who lived in the dorm next to him, Damianos. He was five years older than Laurent, and much, much, bigger. He was a giant, really, all muscles and brute force. He was here on a sports scholarship. But every year, including the year he was there before Laurent, he had won the costume contest with some skimpy outfit designed to show off as much of his glorious, glorious body as he could. It made Laurent furious, so he was determined to craft the single best costume the likes of which his university had never seen before. 

 

“You finally done that thing?” Laurents roommate, Jord, stumbled out of his room, bleary eyed and clad in nothing but boxers. 

“It’s one in the afternoon Jord, how the hell are you just waking up now?” Jord shrugged, walking over to the fridge and peering in. “I finished it this morning,” Laurent continued, “I was just trying it on. What do you think?” He tightened one of the laces on his sleeve. 

“Damianos is still going to win,” Jord called from deep inside their fridge.

“And what makes you think that? I spent ages on this costume,” Laurent huffed, hands on his hips. He was still peering at himself in the mirror, liking how the tight garments pressed against his skin, and how the blue brought out his eyes. 

“Because he always wins, all the judges just want in his pants,” Jord emerged from the fridge, food piled in his arms. He winced at the glare Laurent shot his way. “Hey, it’s not my fault the gods blessed him to be so bangin.” Jord smiled, taking a bite of leftover pizza. 

 

____________

 

Bright lights, loud, terrible music, the smell of beer and regret. Laurent walked into the party with such poise and confidence, it was almost surprising that people didn’t start bowing at his feet. Tonight, he was royalty. 

The main room was full of sweaty grinding Disney princes and princess’, costumes of great monarchs tailored to be as slutty as possible, and a depressing amount of Burger King crowns. People clearly weren’t trying too hard with this years theme: Royalty. There were a few costumes that were okay, he could give Berenger credit at least for the accuracy of his portrayal of Louis the Fourteenth. He was a french history major after all, but the look was slightly dimmed by the clearly very drunk Ariel hanging off his arm. At least it looked like Ancel was having fun, even if he was stumbling over his tail.

 

Laurent quickly found himself with a drink in hand, taking delicate sips and trying to ignore the absolutely foul taste. He took it slow, he was a notorious lightweight and he knew it wouldn’t take much for him to get very drunk, very quickly. The heavy bass of the music pounded in his ears, and he could feel sweat prickling on his forehead, the tight cloth had it drawbacks. But he kept his posture firm and a grin on his face as he watched his brother wade through the crowd toward him. 

“Auguste!” He called, waving his brother closer. He was wearing some sort of ridiculous armour get up, a giant starburst splayed over his breastplate. 

“That’s Sir Auguste to you, I’m a knight dear brother,” he laughed, his golden hair shining in the flashing lights. 

“And I am a king, I shall address you however I Iike,” Laurent smiled back, adjusting the golden circlet on his head. 

“Touché,” Auguste looked closer at Laurents doublet, poking at the delicate golden embroidery. “You’ve outdone yourself this year, you’re really set against Damen aren’t you,” 

“Don’t call him that.” 

“Why? He’s my friend Laurie,” Auguste grinned, he was Damianos’ age and in the sports programs, so it’s understandable how their paths would have crossed. Auguste could never get enough of Laurents endless complaining about his ‘barbarian neighbour’.

“I still don’t understand how you’re friends with that brute, he’s insufferable,” Laurent’s eyes scanned the party, he was very curious as to what Damianos would be wearing. He didn’t see him. 

“Oh come on, he’s not that bad,” Laurent raised a brow at Auguste’s excuse. 

“You don’t have to deal with him blasting Mamma Mia at two in the morning at top fucking volume almost weekly,” He retorted back, thoughts wandering to many sleepless nights pounding on the walls.  
“He’s eccentric,” Auguste said, “And maybe I don’t, but I do have a memory of a certain someone very loudly enjoying the musical stylings of My Chemical Romance for a solid year in highschool,” Laurents eyes went wide, he spluttered. 

“That was a phase Auguste, I’m convinced this is just his personality. No grown man should like Abba quite that much, it’s worrying.” 

If Laurent’s night was so far Damianos free, that was about to change. Not much longer after Auguste had run off to noisily chest bump some jock, Laurent heard the unmistakable booming laugh from across the room. The life of the party had arrived, joy. 

 

Laurent saw Nikandros first, Damianos’ right hand man so to speak, it seemed the two of them were lifting their third friend, who Laurent recognized to be a guy named Pallas, so that he could do a keg stand. A classy lot these three were. They were all wearing some sort of white cloth, and when they flipped Pallas upside down his dress-like garment flipped down over his eyes, completely exposing his most definitely not underwear clad self to the crowd. There was extremely loud cheering. Laurent noticed Lazar, a friend of Jord’s, absolutely screaming his head off, seems he has a thing for scantily clad jackasses. 

Laurent looked closer at what Damianos was wearing. A sort of Greek chiton, white, flowy, and extremely revealing. His arms were out, so was his muscled chest, as well as an absurd amount of thigh. Turns out Damen found a way to show off his muscles that was somehow on theme. Looking at him then Laurent could understand the appeal, Damianos really was an extraordinary specimen. He was massive, an absolute giant. He towered above most, and was almost frighteningly muscled. That was clear in moments like this, barely clothed moments that is. 

He laughed again, his golden laurel had fallen in front of his eyes, obscuring his vision. He had a dimple when he laughed, Laurent thought it was interesting, such a hard looking man with such a soft feature. Laurent realized he had never really looked at Damianos before, at least not like he was now, leaning against that wall at a party, red cup in hand. He mused that maybe Damianos wasn’t such a great brute after all, but the notion was all but banished when him and Nikandros promptly dropped Pallas. 

 

Later in the night, any possible positive thoughts towards Damianos were completely gone. As Laurent stood on that balcony he was practically seething. 

“You didn’t really think you had a chance, did you?” Jord said, his words very mildly slurred.

They stood on the balcony together, the light breeze a relief from the warm, pulsing heat of the party. 

“Its an outrage, it’s completely unethical. He wins every year,” Laurent leaned over the balcony, watching party goes mingle around. His elbows rested themselves and his hands clasped together. His costume was starting to get stuffy. He could take it off, it didn’t really matter now. He had lost again.

“It’s a University costume contest Laurent, it’s not really an affair of ethics.” 

Suddenly another person stumbled on to the balcony, their slim figure quickly clinging to Jord, trying not to fall. His curly hair shone in the light of the moon. Straightening himself, he glanced at Laurent.

“Is Laurent moping again?” Aimeric asked, righting the angle of his loose tunic. 

“I’m not moping.” 

“He’s moping.” 

“Well, that’s our queue. Jord, come on, let’s go have some fun,” he tugged at Jord’s arm, trying to pull him back to the party. Jord cast a glance at Laurent, checking if he needed him to stay. he might talk back but he was loyal. 

“Go, I’ll be here,” Jord and Amieric tumbled off into the party and left Laurent alone to wallow in his loss. 

A sudden call surprised Laurent out of his stupor, almost knocking his drink of the balcony. He looked down upon the courtyard to see the din of people had calmed down drastically, allowing his eye to find its way to the one who had called out.

“But soft! What light from yonder window breaks! It is the east and he is the sun!” Damianos stood there, his hair ruffled and a goofy grin on his face. He was looking directly at Laurent. 

“Pardon?” Laurent called down, more than a little confused. 

“Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. Be not her maid since she is envious. Her vestal livery is but sick and green, and none but fools do wear it. Cast it off!” 

“What the hell are you d-” Laurent was cut off by Damianos. 

“I’m reciting Shakespeare at you!” Laurent thought he looked mighty proud of himself. Laurent also thought he looked very drunk. Damianos continued. 

“It is my lord. Oh, it is my love. Oh that he knew he were!” 

“I never knew you to be one for classic literature,” Laurent begrudgingly replied, if there had been any less vodka in his system he would be a lot less cooperative.

“I didn’t think you knew me for much at all,” again, with that goddamn smile. “It’s a secret passion.” 

Laurent kept a placid look on his face, he didn’t feel much like reciting Romeo and Juliet with a jerk at the moment. 

“Well if you don’t mind,” Laurent mused, “I was having a perfectly fi-” 

“O, speak again, bright angel! For thou art as glorious to this night, being o’er my head, as a winged messenger of heaven unto the white, upturned, wondering eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him when he betrays the lazy-puffing clouds and sails upon the bosom of air.” 

“O Damianos, Damianos! Wherefore art thou, Damianos?” Laurent mocked, “Right here being a bloody pain is where you are,” he turned and left the balcony, leaving Damianos where he stood under the dim light of the stars. 

 

It was hours later, Laurent was happily at home curled up with a book. Since he really hadn’t had much to drink at all, and he left relatively early, he was both wide awake and relatively sober.

All of a sudden, there was a loud bang followed by a fit of hushed giggles. It sounded like Jord had come home, and he wasn’t alone. 

“Jord” Aimeric giggled. Laurent could practically smell the alcohol on his breath. 

Laurent stiffened, putting his book silently down. He held his breath. He could hear the two of them shuffling over to the sofa. A moment passed, and then, 

“Oh…” 

Oh for crying out fucking loud. Laurent sat up straighter, squeezing his eyes shut, praying with all his might that what he thought was happening was not actually happen-

“Oh… Oh Jord” 

Fuck fuck fuck, Laurent panicked. He had to leave.

 

“Jord!” 

He had to leave now.

The heavy breathing was disorienting, he grabbed his phone from the nightside table and almost dizzily stood up. The horrible knot in his stomach was tightening with every whine and moan.

He started walking as quickly as he could towards the door, trying as hard as he physically could not to look anywhere but straight ahead. The two were so drunk that they either didn’t notice Laurent passing, or just didn’t care. 

A slam of the door and he was out of the room. Leaning against the wall and trying desperately to forget everything about what had just happened. He let out a shaky breath, and opened his eyes to find himself trapped out of his apartment without any type of wallet or place to go. Not to mention it was four in the fucking morning according to Laurents phone. 

 

He paced down the dim hall. Maybe he could wait it out? How much stamina could two drunk university students have? A loud moan rung out from his room. Evidently, quite a lot. 

Laurent waited quite some time in that hallway, looking at his phone, picking at his nails, pacing. It all grew to be very boring. But, after a while, everything seemed to have gone quiet. He put his ear up against the door, listerine for anymore noise. But all he heard was pure blissful silence. He thought it best to knock, just in case. And then, if Jord came to the door Laurent might even have a chance to glare at him for it before he forgot everything in the morning. 

His knuckles rapped against the door. Nothing, and then, footsteps. Laurent prepared his glare. But then, when the door opened Laurent didn’t come face to face with Jord, not even with Aimeric. Instead, he looked up into the very tired and very brown eyes of Damianos. 

 

“Laurent?” Laurent stumbled back. Fuck, he had knocked on the wrong door. 

“What are you doing?” Damen rubbed at his eye, he had clearly been woken up.

“I, uh, wrong door,” Laurent stood there, really just too surprised to move, but also very clearly staring at Damianos’ bare chest. Evidently, the brute slept in just his boxers.  
“Why were you knocking at your own door?” Laurents mouth opened, but nothing came out. How to tell your neighbour you’re knocking at his door at four thirty in the morning because your roommate is very audibly fucking in your dorm room.

“I, Jord, he…” Laurent trailed off.

Damianos suddenly understood, he ran a hand through the back of his hair. 

“Oh, that. I heard,” the two of them stood there awkwardly for a moment before starting to speak at the exact same time. 

“Do y-” 

“Sor-” 

Laurent waved at Damen to speak. 

“Do you want to come in?” Laurent immediately flushed, his cheeks going hot. 

“No, no, I… it’s alright,” he took another step backwards. 

“I insist, please,” he moved so the doorway was open for Laurent. “It’s the least I can do for you after what happened earlier,” Damianos chucked, that little dimple popping up on his cheek. 

Pulling his eyes away from Damianos’ dimple, Laurent glanced at his own door. He didn’t really want to go back in there, he had no idea what he might find waiting for him. 

“Fine,” Laurent moved past Damianos into his room, “But I’m not sleeping on the couch.” 

 

Damen giggled and followed Laurent into his dorm room. He was thankfully alone that night, he didn’t want to hear what Nikandros would have had to say about this. He glanced at Laurent, a bun in his hair and clad in sweatpants and a large shirt. He stood in the middle of the room, looking around at all of Damens little personal touches. The photos pinned to the wall, the jerseys draped over chairs. A skeptical look on his face. 

“You can take my bed, Nik would kill me if I slept in his so I’ll take the couch. Feel free to make yourself comfy,” he smiled at his guest, who sat tentatively on the comforter. 

“I liked your costume earlier, it was really well made,” he awkwardly started. 

“I didn’t think you would have noticed, I thought you were to busy doing keg stands and showing off your biceps,” Laurent spat back, surprising Damen with his tone. He awkwardly laughed, running a hand over the back of his neck and taking a seat on the couch. 

“You really should have won, me winning has become this running joke, I don’t deserve it,” 

“You’re right, you don’t,” 

Damen caught eyes with Laurent, feeling the icy blue anger radiating off him. 

“Oh, and sorry about the Shakespeare,” he smiled, trying to diffuse the situation, “I was just trying to cheer you up,” 

“I thought you were drunk off your rocker,” Laurent shot back playing with the string in his pants and boring his eyes into Damen.

“I would have been, but I decided to call it an early night, I’m no use hungover,” he smiled st Laurent, this was the longest conversation he’d ever had with his attractive blonde neighbour, even if it was seemingly pretty one sided. 

“No use drunk either, you’re very loud when you’re intoxicated, and we have very thin walls,” Damen have him a sheepish smile. 

“It sounds like your roommate has calmed down at least, we should try and get some sleep,” Laurent nodded at Damen’s words, delicately climbing under the covers of his bed. Damen grabbed the blanket from the sick of the couch, pulling it over his skin, glad to be close to sleep again. Just as he was weighing how angry Nik would be if he took one of the pillows off his bed, one of his own slammed into his chest with a smack. He looked at Laurent, who had thrown it, and gave him a wide smile. What a weird way to end his night. 

 

Laurent turned over in his sleep. He was dreaming of being wrapped up and held, pulled closer by strong arms. A deep breath and he could smell the person, they were warm like cinnamon and honey.

Laurent lazily blinked his eyes, the little window over the bed was letting in light, and it washed over him in great waves of warmth. He thought about the dream, the hands, that smell, if he thought about it he could still smell it, it lingered in the air. He buried his face in his pillow, and the scent grew even stronger, and at precisely that moment he realized why. Pulling himself up straight with a jolt he clutched the blanket close to him. That had not been his pillow at all, nor was this his room.  
“Morning sleepy head! I’m making french toast!” Laurents eyes narrowed at the voice calling from the kitchenette, definitely out of distaste, and not because the light shining on him was very bright to his most definitely not hungover eyes. 

Damianos walked into view, a spatula in hand and messy bed head giving him a halo of beautiful curls. He was wearing boxers, but thank god he covered up with a shirt at the very least. Laurent assumed it was for his sake. 

“Coffee? Or tea,” he smiled, locking eyes with a very grumpy Laurent. 

Laurent huffed, glaring into Damianos, and relinquishing some of his hold of the duvet that was clutched up to his neck. 

“Do I look like the kind of person that could survive on tea?” Laurent felt a cool breeze on his skin, as Damianos laughed, suddenly remembering groggily waking up sweaty and hot, peeling his shirt off his body. He then came to the immediate conclusion that at the moment,in just his pyjama pants, he was at around the same level of clothed as his very not clothed neighbour. 

He started scanning the floor for his shirt, and seemingly Damianos noticed.

“Here,” he bent over and tossed Laurent a clean enough looking jersey from atop his dresser.

 

The jersey sat in Laurent’s hands, bright red and gaudy. It took a lot of willpower not to throw it right back in his face. He shrugged the shirt on, deciding modesty was more important than pride. As soon as it was on though, he found himself drowning in fabric, the shirt hung massive on his slim body. It was made for a giant, not a thin 20 year old. 

“Bit big,” he said, holding out his arms to see the fabric draped around him. Damianos laughed, and then called to Laurent as he daunted back into the kitchenette.

“Breakfasts ready!” 

“Please, not so loud,” Laurent winced, feeling a specific pounding in his head, but he did get up, stumbling his way over to Damianos and plopping onto an uncomfortable stool at the counter. 

Then two mugs were being placed on the counter, one a horrible shade of fluorescent orange with some sports team or rather emblazoned on the front, and the other a more subtle tone of charcoal. 

Laurent grinned at them, of course the brute had a horrible mug.

“That’s an interesting combination of mugs you’ve got there,” he said, wrapping a hand around it to feel the warmth of the coffee seep into his skin. 

 

“What’s it matter if they’re full of coffee I say,” Damianos paused, adding softer, “The nice one’s Nik’s.”

Laurent found himself laughing. Then Damianos was laughing too, so they laughed together in the sunny room that was Damianos’ dorm. 

Laurent noticed something just then, and made a move to mention it to his neighbour, peering over his great shoulder.

“Uh, Damianos yo-“ 

“Damen,” 

Laurent look at Damianos quizzically, wondering what he was on about.

“Call me Damen,” he continued, a warm smile on his face, complete with teeny dimple.

“I didn’t know we were on nickname terms,” Laurent stiffened a little, he didn’t understand why that had made him uncomfortable. 

“Well, it’s not really, everybody just calls me Damen, and you know, it’s not like we’re strangers,” Damianos rubbed the back of his neck, how such an imposing man could look so awkward and hesitant Laurent didn’t know. 

“We sort of are,” Laurent said, glancing in Damen’s big eyes, watching as they suddenly lit up. 

“Well that’s no fun! Uhhhh, whats your favourite colour?” Damianos smiled, leaning against the countertop.

“Damianos..” 

“Oh come on, play along! Let’s not be strangers!” 

“Damianos,” 

“I mean we don’t have to, but I don’t know anything about you! I mean I know what Augu-“ 

“Damen!” 

Damianos looked at Laurent then, catching a truly incredulous look when he did.

“The French toast has been burning for the past five minutes,” Laurent giggled, turning it into a laugh when Damen whipped around to look and see for himself. 

“Shit!”

 

Laurent watched lazily as Damen remade the toast, grumbling as he did so, clearly he thought this a specialty of his and didn’t much enjoy burning it infront of a guest. After some time, the two of them were able to settle down with their breakfast, smiling at the effort it took. Well, Laurent was smiling, Damen was still grumpy.

As Laurent watched his increasingly interesting neighbour wolf down his breakfast, he came across a thought. 

“Blue,” Laurent said.

“Huh?” Damens mouth was full of French toast. 

“My favourite colour, it’s blue.”

The smile that lit up Damen’s face was one Laurent had never had the pleasure of seeing, but just then he decided he wouldn’t much mind seeing it again, maybe.


End file.
